


Drabbles and dabbles

by Camfield



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompts taken and filled from friends and at sexwithsniperrifles.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prowl/Jazz - Bondage

Prowl always knew when Jazz’s missions had god badly well before any report was made. When his friend and lover broke into his room even though he had the code, slinking around the space with chaos and danger and pain in his optics.

When he had to fight Jazz for control, stasis cuffs coming out to secure him to the berth and holding him there. Holding him down as he struggled and wailed and cursed and there were times where Prowl had to use all his strength, all his experience, to keep the tide of destructive self harm from pouring out between them.

But when it was over, and Jazz’s frame trembled against the berth and his partner’s he let his chevron press to the black helm and shutter his optics. Where Jazz thanked him with a static laced voice. For staying. For caring.

And Prowl’s mouth tilted up at the corners. Wrapping Jazz in a hug of field and frame alike.

“Always.”


	2. Bluestreak/Soundwave - Waltz

The music had a way of getting to him, sometimes without him even realizing it had. Where he was swaying on his pedes and watching as the lithe, dark frame embodied grace as it moved.

Servos held his arms, optics dim as the song ended. Watching as Soundwave turned toward him, a quirk of lipplates as he offered out his servo to the sniper.

One hesitant step, then another until he was resting in the other mech’s arms just like he’d seen in the human vidfiles. Stumbling until he caught the rhythm and the movement, embarrassment making his panels hang low on his back until a long, spindly digit tilted his helm up and lips caught his in a simmering kiss.

When it broke his vents were stuttering, and he didn’t even notice as they moved over the floor in seamless synchronicity. Watching Soundwave, enjoying the way the mech’s frame was tantalizingly close and yet held so properly away...

At the end of the song he laughed, spinning and bowing before he was picked up and given a sly grin.

There was another dance to enjoy, after all.


	3. Bluestreak/Bumblebee - slow frag

There was never enough time to do things properly.

War made time ever so much more precious, and when Bluestreak did get a chance to pull Bumblebee into his room it was to hold him tight and kiss him silly. Mapping out his mouth with a teasing glossa, stroking over yellow plating until the little mech was arching into his touch, trembling against his frame. Pushing him into the berth and purring as he caressed that panel until it snapped back and digits sunk into a tight, slick valve. Stretching him out slowly, relishing each and every cry that came from the smaller mech’s mouth. Taking one of his horns between lips to suck on, enjoying the jerk and hitch of hips every time he pressed in.

And he took his time. Coaxing overload after overload from Bumblebee with digits and glossa until he was more than ready, lubricant slicking the berth below his aft.

Bluestreak slid in, easing himself slowly no matter how much urging or begging was directed at him. Hips seating themselves snugly between yellow thighs, grinding in before he drew back and set an achingly slow pace. Deep, firm, covering the smaller frame to keep him there and groaning when it tightened around him even more than it already was.

When they were finally sated he tucked the mech close to his frame, engine purring. They were definitely going to do that again.


	4. Sunstreaker/Bluestreak/Sideswipe - Angst

He could see it in their optics when they looked at each other. Could see it when they thought he wasn’t looking, because who thought that a mech with such a runaway mouth could pay attention to anything while he talked.

But he did.

He saw the smirking, the hooded looks. The annoyance, the cruel pleasure, the resigned optic roll when he reached for an arm to hold or a kiss from one of them.

Even though he did get those kisses. They were empty, they were cold.

The gunner hated that, hated that they were cold. It was only because of the way they held him in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Fucked him raw and senseless and let him stay in their berth even when they were gone the next morning before he woke up that he pretended he didn’t know.

Pretended he was as airhelmed as they thought him to be.

Pretended not to care when he was passed by for someone else.

Because in the end, they were the only ones who could drive away his nightmares, even when he knew they’d destroy him just the same.


	5. Bluestreak/Thayle - Tropical Island

It was abandoned, or rather, the person who owned it had given up on taming the flora that had settled itself in around the tiny cottage on the beach.

Bluestreak was shaking off sand, compacting his frame as much as possible to seal off his seams. Sand was nasty inside joints, and he had no desire to be in pain the whole weekend.

The whole weekend with Thayle.

Alone.

Where they could interface wherever they wanted.

So when he suddenly shouted “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” and scared the pants off her, it was only polite that he help her out of the rest of her clothing too.

A really good, whole weekend with Thayle


	6. Bluestreak/Bumblebee - Heartbreak

Bumblebee was the one who wanted, who yearned desperately for the affirmation that Bluestreak couldn’t give, wouldn’t give. He held the minibot close, tried his best to soothe the fears and the anger that pervaded his friend’s processor. The pain that pervaded his spark.

It wasn’t enough, it never would have been enough.

He wasn’t willing to give up what he had for anyone, even though he loved Bumblebee, he wasn’t going to shatter what he’d clawed so hard to get.

Foolish words, foolish mouths running from both of them. Sharp glossa and he would lay on his berth for hours when they went over a fight. Hiding his face, holding a pillow close, like it could protect him at all.

The scout hated his lover, and it was the realization one day that he’d never get them to reconcile that broke his spark


	7. Twins/Jazz/Bob - cuddles and treats

Sunstreaker had his good days. Where everything was roses, and he wore a smile on his face the whole day through. Where Sideswipe was happy, because his twin was happy, and where Jazz laughed at them both for prancing around the house.

That might have been just Sideswipe, but Sunstreaker let it slide.

Then there were the days where he hurt. He ached and he could barely stand to look at his own servos, let alone be anywhere near a mirror. Where he trembled where he stood and lashed out at everyone who came close with pain in his spark.

Those days were when they set Bob on him. To take the brunt of the anger against that impervious shell, until Sunstreaker was venting hard and tucked into a corner. Arms wrapped around himself and keening quietly as his brother and their lover creep over to join Bob in wrapping the golden mech up in firm embraces and quiet words. Holding him until he sagged against them, until they passed crisis into comfort, and little treats were held out for him to take. Kisses with lips as sweet as iridium, words as soft as silver.

And he never loved them more as he did when they were there with him, because he remembered that he wasn’t alone and that... that was worth every bit of pain that taught him that.


	8. Ratchet/Ironhide - fluffy/sweet

It had been a long day. A battle waged meant wounded in his medical bay, and Ratchet refused to leave until the last mech had been seen and cared for. Swaying on his pedes as First Aid finally shoved him out with orders to fuel and rest.

Orders. Kid had gotten pretty slagging commanding when he thought he knew what was best for his patient.

Ratchet was proud of him, even if he’d been the one kicked out.

Ironhide had met him at the door, another point to First Aid, and had caught the medic up under the elbow when he nearly stumbled. Guiding him back to his own room and easily giving in to the quiet, gruff “Stay?” Climbing up into the berth and pulling Ratchet down against his front. Just holding him gently, kissing along the silver gray cables so temptingly right in front of his mouth.

It made Ratchet sigh, finding a black servo to clasp and bring up to his mouth to kiss. Optics shuttering as exhaustion finally claimed their stubborn victim, frame going slack as systems dropped into standby.

It made the veteran smile, hidden though it was, and hold Ratchet close.

He was more than happy to stay like this all night. Holding his lover close and soothing him back to recharge whenever he stirred.


	9. Bee/Blue/Blaster - Dream come true

There wasn’t anger.

There wasn’t accusatory remarks, belittling, there wasn’t fear and rage and he didn’t know what they’d done to get that way, or why, but he wasn’t going to question it. He wasn’t going to ask about anything right now, not when he had them both running servos over his frame. Touching him, the both of them. Servos overlapping, stroking him until every bit of his sensor net was inflamed and he cried out against kisses and words murmured against his lips.

He didn’t know how they managed it, but when they both slid into him and he trembled because the idea and the reality and it was all making him cry tears of joy that were immediately whisked away by tender touches it made him think that maybe, maybe things would be alright.


	10. Baby Bob - Adventures

There were many things that Bob didn’t understand at first.

Doors were one of them.

They blocked his path sometimes, and other times were gone completely. Hidden away by whatever god decided that it was okay for him to go that way or not.

What Bob didn’t like about doors was that sometimes they were gone when he went through them, they were there so that he couldn’t get back out.

That was when he whimpered, rasping little buggy cries that had fat tears falling down his faceplates to puddle on the floor. Calling out in chitter for his master to save him, and wailing when the saving didn’t come immediately.

But then there were servos picking him up, holding him close to golden plating as Sunstreaker crooned to him like the matriarch sometimes did in training. Soothing and low and Bob curled up to feel that thrum that came from his chest, always falling asleep eventually; the fear of being alone battered away by his master and hive queen.


	11. Bee/Blue/Jazz - Nightmare

Bluestreak had nightmares.

It was well known, because he sought others out to take him into their berth. Cuddling, fragging, he didn’t care what it was so long as it chased away the shadows that lurked in his processor. Flitting from room to room if needed, always on the move as he ran from memory files that threatened to overwhelm him and leave him curled in a corner, crying.

But he knew he wasn’t the only one, and when he found a friend, a lover locked in the same battle he was there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help them. Holding them tight, arms wrapped around Jazz one night as he woke with tears threatening to fall. He and Bumblebee covering the TIC with affections and soft words to chase demons away. Ending up in such a tight pile that getting out of it the next morning always took a bit of thinking and a lot of laughing.

Or holding Bumblebee’s servo tight when the minibot suddenly stopped seeing him. Them. Sitting right there on the floor to gently coax him back to reality with a flood of words and gentle kisses.

Bluestreak had nightmares, but his lovers did too and he refused to let them deal with them alone.


	12. Sunstreaker/Jazz - "What do you mean we're done?"

It choked him. The quiet words spoken as they sat at the corner table. In public, because he hadn’t thought it would be something like this.

Sunstreaker’s servos rested gracefully on the table, his look almost cool and disinterested. As if he’d no cares in the world, certainly not from this.

“What do ya mean we’re done?”

Cold fear gripped his spark, because Jazz had precious little that was his personally and this... his relationship with the twins was that. His. Not something he had to be in control over, not something that was dictated by anyone else but them and the black and white tried to reach over and take one of the frontliner’s servos only to have it moved out of the way.

“I’m sorry, Jazz.”

Optics never looked at his visor directly, and Sunstreaker stood up and moved away. Not once looking back.

It was all Jazz could do to smile, leaning back in his chair to sip energon with a slightly shaking servo.

He was alright, nothing to see here.

He was alright...


	13. Soundwave/Bluestreak - Pain

Pain wasn’t always physical, and Bluestreak didn’t always show it.

But Soundwave... Soundwave knew when it grew inside the gunner. When his thoughts and spark lurched and memories and self doubt flooded him until he was only just holding on to his smile. Where he found reasons not to look at anyone, even when he was sitting with them, enjoying energon or treats.

Sometimes he did nothing at all. Waiting to see if the mech would crack before acknowledging that he needed. That he hurt.

Sometimes he would pick the smaller mech up and take him up to the observatory, reclining them both to watch the stars and simply holding Bluestreak. Not asking anything of him, just holding him.

They never counted time here. Relaxing until softly, Bluestreak began to sing. Words weaving emotion into something tangible, sometimes in neocybex, sometimes in Praxian and sometimes in languages lost to the universe.

Until his frame loosened up and his spark didn’t hurt so much.


	14. Bluestreak/Minis - nesting

They never commented on it, just accepted it as a quirk and left it at that. Always grinning to each other when yet another minibot was pulled from the hallway to be smuggled into Bluestreak’s room and added to the berth.

Bluestreak would herd them up, nudging and adjusting them so everyone fit. Climbing up and folding himself around and over them in a complicated movement that no one really understood and everyone thought looked hilarious even if they didn’t say it.

He crooned to them, grooming and nuzzling them until coding was satisfied. Making sure that they were all safe, whole, before napping on them whether they did or not

It was hard to get mad at that, especially when it seemed to make the sniper so happy.

Even if Prowl was exasperated because Cliffjumper had been dragged from monitor duty again.


	15. Perceptor & Bluestreak - Shop talk

“No, the rotation is off. Another .06 degrees.”

“Mmm, no I don’t think that’s it either.”

“Trust me, for that it’s the rotation.”

“You know, if we increased the power of the scope it would add on almost a half mechanomile to the range.”

“But then we’d need to tweak the power and it could only be used for super long range sniping.”

“Unless it was fully adjustable.”

“That’s going to be an amazing scope then. Let’s build it.”

“You are SO my new best friend.”


	16. Sideswipe & Sunstreaker - separation anxiety

No one else quite understood. No one else could understand, really, that when Sideswipe’s smile was just a little bit dim and his movements a little lackluster it wasn’t just because he ‘missed’ his brother.

They didn’t understand that when Sunstreaker pulled away, refusing to give anyone even the barest of moments it wasn’t just because Sideswipe wasn’t there to temper his reaction.

No one did.

The pull that came with distance between their sparks, the anxiety that came with your other half being so far physically away from you and in danger, without you to protect them.

They didn’t understand Sideswipe’s need to be with Sunstreaker. Just to be in the same room with him. Or Sunstreaker’s need to always have an optic on Sideswipe.

They didn’t understand that it was because they’d lost everything but each other and sometimes that makes a mech cling tight to what he’s got and outright refuse to give it up even when they know it’s unhealthy.

But the twins didn’t mind, because they knew why. That staying together meant a sort of safety in a world where there was no such thing.


	17. Bob - Who's the boss

Master.

Master was always the boss.

Master told him what to do, gave him direction and taught him everything even when Bob wanted to do things his own way and ended up with far different results than they’d planned for.

Master was never cruel.

There were stern words that tucked down his antennae, firm commands that perked them back up again and soft praise that made him want to cuddle close and lick Master’s face until he laughed.

Master was his hive queen. His commander. His everything.

Master was always the boss, because Master was worthy.


	18. Sunstreaker & Bob - Fear

Something that never failed to bring Bob skittering around the corner was a sound that only he could hear. Where whoever was in the room knew to stand by, just in case something happened.

Sunstreaker would lay on the berth, lost in a world of memory and his own creation. Reliving pain, physical and mental, as they tore into him. Gouging at him with tools and words until he was cowering on the floor. Gagging at what he used to be, and yet all the same unable to stop the keen that poured subsonically from his mouth.

Bob would come in, gather his master close to his chest and shift his carapace around to shield him. Cover him.

Protect him.

Holding the barely shaking frame close and chittering softly, bringing the golden mech out of his panic, soothing the fear that lapped at the edges of his field.

Sometimes Sunstreaker would tuck his helm down and sob. Be weak in the arms of someone he knew wouldn’t judge him. Sometimes he fought to get free, to prove that he wasn’t that weak mech in his memory recall.

But always Bob stayed with him, driving away the fear in the end.


	19. Ratchet/Ironhide - making love

Too often there wasn’t time to enjoy themselves. Too often there wasn’t time to take their time, where interfacing was either done as a quick release of energy or not at all.

Ratchet had had enough ‘not at all’ for a lifetime, and while he didn’t consider himself much of anything when it came to frame pleasure, he still knew what he wanted. He was too old not to, even with his rather slim experience with reciprocating partners.

But right now he wasn’t thinking about that.

Right now he was thinking about how much he loved this mech, and how dammed good this felt. Frames rocking together slowly, their servos locked together and mouths mapping each other’s in a slow, moan filled dance. Where they rocked together, not reaching for the overload at all. Just enjoying the sensations, the feelings that each brush against sensors invoked. The caress of fields that were meshed so completely they were indistinguishable from one another.

Gruff, soft words. Where ‘I love you’ flowed freely, and Ratchet kissed the veteran between each until he got a steady stream of ‘darlin’. Laughing lightly, optics dim as they watched expressions change and soften even further, chevron to warhawk as the first peak took them over together.

The medic sighing, not moving just yet.

There was time for another round, and he wasn’t done making love just yet.


	20. Bluestreak/Bumblebee - egg

“...what is that.”

Bumblebee looked at him with a glare. “An egg. Our sparkling.”

Bluestreak very promptly sat down. Looking at the gunmetal gray egg with a dubious expression. “Our... in... egg?”

“Yes, an egg,” Bumblebee sighed, “Because I’m a mini, and it can’t grow big enough inside me to develop all the way. So it comes out in and egg and finishes developing in there, then it’ll hatch. An. Egg.”

There was a cautious servo reaching to touch it, pat it? Not break it, that’s what he was trying to do.

The yellow mech sighed, putting the egg in Bluestreak’s lap.

“We’re going to talk about egg care, energon painting and what your sire duties are for the rest of it’s growing period. Alright? Alright.”

All he could do was nod at the scary mini he’d had offspring with. Yes he was good yes don’t hurt him he’s good.

Another sigh, this was going to be a long day.


	21. Mirage/Hound - cuddles

Hound gave the best cuddles.

Mirage would never admit it out loud, of course, but when he was feeling frustrated or down it was always the green scout he sought out. Always. Didn’t matter where they were or what he was doing, if Mirage deemed it time to cuddle, he would sit down in Hound’s lap and settle back against him, a clear sign that Hound’s servos were to be around him now, thank you very much.

The jeep found it amusing, but he never failed to react either. Wrapping Mirage up in a tight hold and continuing his conversation like he hadn’t just become a chair and blanket all in one.

Though no one else mentioned it either, not in earshot.

There were some things you didn’t do around Ops mechs.


	22. Bluestreak/X - somnophilia

When Bluestreak had the choice, he loved waking up his lovers with his mouth. Deft touches and soft kisses to places he knew were sensitive, ghosting sensation that was just enough to tease, not enough to bring them over.

How they woke up with hazy optics, already arching into his touch. Sometimes to roll him over and take him deep and fast, sometimes content to allow him his rein until they overloaded. It was never the same, but it always made him purr with anticipation, because right out of recharge was when most were unpredictable. Still caught in that place between wakefullness and recharge where reality isn’t but neither is fantasy.

So he granted them whichever they wanted, always eager for that reaction that gave him such pleasure.


	23. Sunstreaker/Jazz - Please...

He’d cornered the frontliner in one of the spare rooms, though he knew that it was only because Sunstreaker had let himself be cornered at all. It gave him hope, hope that he relentlessly squashed down even as he looked up at the taller mech.

“Please...” His visor was retracted, his white optics looking at the mech imploringly, “Please, ‘Streaker.”

Sunstreaker folded his arms across his chassis, leaning back just a little. “I’m sorry Jazz, we’re done.”

It made him wail and rage inside, but all he did was step forward again. “But why. Ain’t a sign pointin’ ta this an’ suddenly bam, ya cut me loose an’ start fraggin’ half the base again. Ah jus’ wanna know why.”

That made the mech’s gaze drop, just slightly, just enough for Jazz to know he’d hit something even if he didn’t know what it was yet.

“Because we weren’t working out, alright? Just leave it be.”

“Weren’... workin’ out? Sunny ain’t a mech Ah been with compare ta ya. Not one. Ya didn’t tell meh thin’s were goin’ wrong, didn’t talk ta meh... What gives. Please. Talk ta meh.”

The golden mech pulled into himself even more, optics going just the slightest bit cold as he looked at Jazz. “No. We’re done. Leave me alone, Jazz.”

His face smoothed into neutral, and his visor snapped back down. “Alrigh’. Alrigh’ fine. Ya were one of the best thin’s ta happen ta meh, an’ Ah hope ya find someone who does the same for ya.”

Black and white left the room, and when the door closed Sunstreaker leaned against the wall and put his face in his servo.


	24. Prowl/Smokescreen/Bluestreak - wings

It’s always better with your own frametype.

That’s what Praxians said, because no one else had the same configuration, no one else had the sensor net and mods that were designed around using the inherited wings that their frametype shared.

Even if they had their preferred partners, lovers, mates, there was something that drew them together in sometimes clandestine meetings where they blew circuits and released tension that they couldn’t elsewhere.

Because even attentive, there were things that Praxians knew about each other that outside partners rarely ever did. Where tweaking wires just right, touching this panel in just this way were natural, normal, and it brought results in that left them hoarse and limp for hours because they were so sensitive after ages of not being touched.

It was always better with your own frametype.

Where when you helped wash you knew what brush to use for the edges vs the flats of the panels, what tool was for the outer seams, what tool was for the inner bits of the hinge. Things you knew, things that didn’t have to be taught because they were culture, they were your core.

So when the Praxians got together, servos brushing and caressing each other one at a time, there was always one of them who swore he’d never go back to servos that felt clumsy in comparison.

They always did, but...

It was always better with your own frametype.


	25. Blaster/Bluestreak - Counting

“One.”

Pain. Agonizing pain as he can’t move, can’t look away.

“Two.”

His frame mangled and torn, servos stained with energon.

“Three.”

His first kill on the battlefield, sobbing in the dark of an abandoned house.

“Four.”

Pretending he didn’t care when he heard them talk about him, about his running mouth and his crybaby ways.

“Five.”

Berthhopping, trying to find someone who wouldn’t kick him out after a frag, so he could have a moment of peaceful recharge.

“Six.”

Watching with distant optics as the unattainable smiled at him, unable to hold himself back from falling helm over heels.

“Seven.”

Servos reaching, pretending that each touch was forever.

“Eight.”

Joy, unending when he heard words back for the first time. Where his spark nearly exploded and he laughed and cried all at the same time.

“Nine.”

Being a part of the mech’s world, selfish as his desires are, and smiling because there’s hope. There’s hope...

“Ten.”

Unshuttering his optics and looking over at a mech who isn’t perfect, but who makes him want to be better. To heal and to hold and give back as much as Blaster ever did for him.

“Feelin’ better?”

And nodding, because ten seconds ago he’d been locked in his own processor, waiting for death to take him again.

“Much better.”


	26. Jazz & Mirage & Bee - cuddles

Jazz called it team building.

Mirage called it undignified.

Bumblebee called it annoying.

But each one of them had days where they called for a ‘meeting’. Where they would pile into Jazz’s berth and nuzzle helms together. Fields calming, meshing until they were synched as much as possible sans hardlines. Servos touching, petting. Each of them making sure that the one who needed this most was the focus of their attention.

Jazz called it needed.

Mirage called it a waste of time.

Bumblebee called it annoying.

None of them ever missed a meeting.


	27. Prowl/Jazz - 'raising' Bluestreak

Prowl had been there, had been in Praxus looking for survivors. No one had had the spark to tell him not to, to tell him that no one had survived. Even Hound hadn’t been able to find anyone, not anyone who’d been alive still.

Three orns he searched.

Three orns there was no survivor brought back.

Then suddenly there was and the camp was in a flurry. The youngling attached to Prowl like a lifeline, refusing to let to for anything at all. Refusing to talk, refusing to fuel, only holding on to Prowl and watching. Crying.

When they sat in Prowl’s quarters that night, Jazz stroking the newly repaired plating gently, the little mech curled between them. Always looking to make sure that they were still there, exhausted and refusing to recharge and Prowl knew there was no way he’d be able to send him to one of the neutral camps.

And Jazz gave him a smile, because he knew the mech well enough to know that they’d be raising the kid. Giving Prowl a quick kiss and reclining, tucking Bluestreak between them.

They’d manage. They always had.


	28. Blaster/Bee - murder

Energon on his servos, cabling torn and plating ripped through. Lines burst via vibration, metal rattled, optics weak, dim, unseeing. Unmoving.

Energon. Pooled around him. Them.

Energon. In his intake, ruptured tank, leaking out from his mouth, from his torso. Plating rent, processor running, calling Ratchet.

Not going to make it.

Not going to make it...

Energon.

Stained the ground, sparks flitting around each other as they fly from corpses and into the night sky to join the stars.


	29. Jazz/Human - beating the odds

Jazz was an enigma. The friend to everyone, the mech you could talk to, trust with your troubles. No one ever thought to ask if he needed the same, but Ratchet mused that that’s probably why he sought out Carly.

She listened. She would sit in his cab, go over music with him and talk to him like a person. He could just be Jazz, and that was something that he’d not been able to do much for a long time.

And it wasn’t like there weren’t other mecha who’d taken human partners. Spike and Bumblebee, Tracks and Raoul, Powerglide and Astoria?

But no one had expected Jazz, the mech who was always up for a frag or a party, to commit to Carly like he’d done. Exchanging rings and vows in a human ceremony, even being granted a few days vacation for a honeymoon, pending Decepticon attacks.

He dealt with the pranks, the notes that called him a freak. The human media when they found out that he’d married Carly, an easy smile on his face as he talked to the reporters (who later commented that if human men acted like Jazz did the divorce rate wouldn’t be as high as it was).

And it lasted. For as long as Carly lived, Jazz was faithful and happy. Both of them enjoying it in the moment, for as many moments as Carly could give.

Even when he buried her, a soft smile on his face still, it was Optimus that had commented that he seemed happier with her then he had in a long time.

Jazz had just shrugged, transforming and rolling out of the cemetery and back to the Ark. He couldn’t explain it, and he probably never would.

But he’d enjoyed beating the odds with Carly.


	30. Bluestreak/Halftooth - grooming

When Bluestreak groomed Halftooth it was always a task. Armed with brushes and cloths, spending hours making his mate gleam and shine before he was fully satisfied. Joints oiled, always making sure that each and every armor plate sat comfortably, because it was something that he could do.

When Halftooth groomed Bluestreak, it inevitably ended up with the mech flat on his back, gasping in pleasure as that long glossa snaked up inside him. Unable to move for being pinned down by a massive servo, hips twitching and jerking until the Insecticon found him completely ‘clean’, then begging for more because no, no he wasn’t clean just yet.

Needless to say, they each looked forward to grooming time no matter whose turn it was.


	31. Bluestreak/Halftooth - bath time

There was very little Bluestreak didn’t like about bath time. The oil soothed his sore frame, the heat melted away tension and he sighed so deeply Halftooth often asked him if he was alright.

There was always a purr, the gunner nuzzling into the larger frame with a ‘mmmhmmm’ because there wasn’t one part of him that wasn’t alright in the bath.

Not one.

And it didn’t matter what they did, either (though the ‘what’ was often varied and had long moans involved) because the bath made him so pliant and content that he could have done almost anything and been happy.

No matter what they did, it was always Halftooth carrying him to their nest afterward, because he couldn’t have stood up on his legs if he’d wanted to.


	32. Bluestreak/Halftooth - play time

With four sparklings there wasn’t much time for adult play time. Especially since those four sparklings were Insecticon minded and always looking for something to dig up or tear to shreds.

More than once Bluestreak had had to hold back tears and tell himself that they didn’t mean it, they were only sparklings, when something of his was inevitably eaten in the name of sharpening fangs.

But he learned. Joined in when they searched for energon, played along when they ‘captured’ their Sire and cheeped from the top of his chest, confident and proud in their power.

It made him proud to be a carrier, made him proud to be in this family.

Even when they chewed up his things and made it hard to get nookie.


	33. Sides & Bob - anklebiter

Sideswipe didn’t hate Bob, but he sure as Pit didn’t like him either.

Because the damn bug had this... fascination with his ankles that he couldn’t understand. Always nipping at them when he walked near Sunstreaker, when he walked away from Sunstreaker, when he walked, period.

It was enough to make a mech go crazy, and his ankles looked terrible. Scratched and paint just gone in some places, like he was a slagging shooter who couldn’t take care of himself.

Then, he found the solution. Treats.

Shove a treat at the bug, he doesn’t bite the ankles. Shove a treat at the bug, he gets fat enough to be too slow to bite the ankles period.

It was perfect.

Sunny was going to hate it.


	34. Ricochet/Bluestreak - accidental sparkbond

A prick at his spark woke him, weight registered a second later because he was under someone. Under someone...

Under... He was under Ricochet, he’d come over to work off his battle high and...

It was fuzzy. He could still feel the heavy weight of the mech’s spike in his valve. Could still feel the tacky mess between them, but as his perception unhazed he could feel something else too. In his spark, the hint of something that wasn’t his, that he didn’t quite know how to explain.

Chestplates twinged, and Ricochet groaned above him. Awareness sinking in with emotions that weren’t his, catty satisfaction that he knew from the mech’s field and...

And then Ricochet stopped, looking down at him with narrowed optics and Bluestreak found he couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away, not from the gaze that caught him and blamed him in the same stare. Claws pricking at his armor, his own servos tightening on the larger mech’s arms.

His spark roiled, his own turmoil mixed with Ricochet’s emotions, claws tightening until he made a soft sound of pain and staying there, optics locked in a battle he didn’t quite understand but couldn’t look away from.

He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t going to let this break him, wasn’t going to let Ricochet break him either.


	35. Blaster/Bluestreak - gestures

It was the little things that told him he was loved.

When Blaster would come up behind him in public and wrap arms around him. Just holding him tight for a moment (or three or four) before moving off again.

Or when he just laid on top of, something that had always made him feel safe. Protected.

Little things like finding a cube of his favorite energon waiting for him.

Or a song in his inbox.

And he liked to do little things back. Like cleaning up the comm hub, or tugging Blaster into berth and oiling every joint and armor plate he could hear grinding ieven a little.

Sometimes, that was all he needed, and he hoped that it helped Blaster in the same way.


	36. Megatron/Jazz - 'it's too big. it won't fit'

It was cliche. It was stupid.

He knew it, he knew Megatron knew it, and yet... He couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

“That’s too big. It ain’t gonna fit.”

The warlord scoffed at him, red optics bright with excitement and no small amount of arousal as he looked at the mech all trussed up in the brig. Baring fangs in a grin as he strode in, ripping Jazz’s panel off in a sharp movement and leaning over to grin at him dangerously.

“That’s the point, Autobot.”


	37. Blue/Thayle - that time of the month

His first encounter with the human female reproductive system was when he smelled blood. Well, he didn’t know it was blood at first, just that there was a strange, iron tang in the air around her.

And so he asked Ratchet why the air smelled like iron, only to get the answer, “Oh, Thayle’s probably bleeding again.”

Which didn’t do anything good for his nerves, and he very promptly went to find Thayle so he could bring her BACK to Ratchet and hold her cupped in his servos as he looked at the medic imploringly. “Fix her. Please fix her.”

That led to a very thorough, very very detailed explanation of what happened to women each month and how it was very very not life threatening.

...It never stopped him from holding her close whenever she got it. Nothing should bleed like that and not die... and he wasn’t taking any chances.


	38. Sunstreaker - 'lovers under the sun'

There was a saying about the sun, about how it’s intensity is blinding. Brilliant and beautiful, but painful when it burns.

Sunstreaker was intense.

He would focus all of his attention on his lover. Painting them with desire, touching them until they couldn’t remember their own designation. Driving them into bliss because they should be there, with him.

He needed them to be there.

Sunstreaker was brilliant and beautiful. He drove himself to be perfection in all that he did, because not being the best was unacceptable. Not being able to best anyone ELSE was unacceptable. He polished until he shone and trained until he could kill anyone, anything.

And he did this because he refused to be the one who got burned.

Never again.


	39. Bluestreak/Tentacles

His Jelly had once been much larger. Bigger even than him, and Bluestreak could still remember being suspended by them over the thick bodied mass that was his friend. Every bit of his plating wiggled under, every seam and gap explored from his pedes up to his helm. Watching as those thousands of eyes watched him back, one tentacle helping his panel shift aside and immediately touching the new space with excitement.

Jelly was always excited, always happy to play with the gunner.

And all those probing, waving tentacles edged in. Stretching his valve out with constantly rotating movements that pressed one in and eased one out, then two in, then three until he’d lost count and it didn’t matter anyway because he’d never ever been so full in his life. Where they presesd up into his gestation tank and touched him so deep he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or cry or moan in pleasure and it ended up being some amalgamation of the three. Where he was stretched to the point that protoform bulged when they pushed in, and the mesh of his valve was stretched thin and white. One little tendril curling around his anterior node and squeezing and...

He lost track of how many times he overloaded like that, only that when Jelly was satisfied he slept enveloped in a warm body. Affectionately nuzzling the gel nearest his face.


	40. Sunstreaker+Sideswipe/Jazz - painting

He loved to paint them.

He loved to watch as they made love, as they fragged like petro rabbits. Where Jazz had his brother arching as he pounded him into the berth, where Sideswipe had the smaller mech moaning with his talented mouth.

He loved to watch as they messed the berth. To take image captures of their candid moments and store each image until his memory banks overflowed. Looking for the best angles, the best lighting, until he could choose the ones he wanted to use as models.

Rarely did he overload then, not with his processor on his paints and canvas. Instead letting them rest on the berth as he swept brush over surface to recreate, to embody.

To preserve.

So that everyone who came later would know who the two most important mecha in the world were.


	41. ZuZu - family

It was hard to say when he’d stopped thinking of ZuZu as a little him and simply just as ‘family’. It was hard to be a caretaker, and his own brand of neediness didn’t always mix with a fussy sparkling who wanted to be held most of the time.

But...

It got easier. 

He didn’t freak out about everything, or at least as much. There was probably never going to be a point where he was completely able to deal with ZuZu’s own neediness, and there had already been times where he’d taken advantage of naptime to foist the little mech on either Ratchet or Blaster just for some time for himself.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was getting better thanks to his lover and a little ball of slobber and kisses.


	42. Bluestreak/Thayle - racing

He loved taking her for a ride. Loved strapping her in and flying down the roads with nothing but his own power pushing them faster and faster.

Thayle had once asked if he was racing the wind.

Bluestreak had promptly responded with yes, and pushed his alt mode to go faster still.

Because there was nothing so thrilling as that feeling of air against his plating, where tires spun and ground against pavement, or dirt, or sand, whatever. Nothing as thrilling as when he rode the edge of spinning out, or even did spin out, Thayle whooping in his cab.

The rush that came after, where he interfaced Thayle until they both were limp and panting? That was a bonus.


	43. Blue/Bee - The End

He’d lost this mech once. The idea of it happening again… it tore at him. Every battle where he saw yellow and black, every word that came back while he was off on a mission, he prayed that his friend would come back safe.

But then, even after his own death he still didn’t really ‘believe’ in Primus. Not as someone who could answer prayers.

That didn’t stop him from cursing the god when he heard it over the comms.

::Bumblebee down!::

Scrambling from his vantage point to the field, shooting as he ran and refusing to believe anything at all but the best. Refusing to think about…

About his Buzzy. Who was missing a quarter of his frame, energon pooling in the dirt.

No.

He pressed close, begging Ratchet to come quicker. His own digits flying as they clamped lines and dug into the slippery fluid to find even more leaks and whispering to the mech that he better not leave. He better not…

But the gray told him otherwise and he couldn’t stop it from creeping up plating. Even as he was pushed back and Ratchet took over


	44. Blue/Bob - Heat

Heat spread through his frame, sending energon boiling in his lines as Bob drove into him from behind. 

Those small claws gripped at his hips, holding him in place. His whole frame covered, panels tucked to his back strut and helm hanging. A gasping cry when the Insecticon’s spike hit the back of his valve and the spines were dragged over the sensitive mesh. Unable to move and loving every single second of being used as a rut mate.

The power in each thrust that threatened to drive him forward, the strength in the claws that held him right where Bob wanted him to be. It made his optics surge with static and his field crackle visibly over his plating. Giant claws on either side of his much smaller servos, hips clanging and clashing and paint transferring and his calipers fluttering as they were battered and spread wide. Keening when the knot at the base of the already thick spike started to swell, pushing in until there was no room to move in or out. Thick jets of transfluid pushing their way into his tank because there was no where else left for it to go. Bluestreak shaking in overload as the heat drove him through one and right into another without so much as a break between. Until he was being held up by those claws, straining pedes pushing against the floor and servos grasping at nothing.

One single sob when electricity flushed through him hard enough to snap relays and make him nearly jolt out of Bob’s hold.

And he was just getting started.


	45. Blue - Big toy play time

There were times when Bluestreak couldn’t find anyone to play with. It happened, between battles and training and duty shifts and extracurriculars that weren’t interfacing, and pit, even he knew that sometimes a mech could get even just too tired for an overload.

Which meant that he had to find other ways to get his bolts torqued sometimes, and over the vorn he’d gotten pretty good at it.

The spike stood thick and tall from where he had it magnetized on the floor. Glistening with lubricant, his digits capping the tube and stowing it away as he settled himself over the toy with a sigh of pleasure. Panel open, just rocking himself down in easy motions. Using his servos to help ease his rim open over the metal, sinking down a little more with each shift of his frame. Until he was seated, helm thrown back and servos on inner thigh. Panels quivering, his whole frame taut and ready.

All it took was one good rise and fall to have him overload the first time, a digittip vibrator working over his node as he rocked and shuddered and keened his pleasure to the empty room.


	46. Blue/Jazz/Twins - Battle

It was a dance.

Speed, power, accuracy. A dance that they practiced; a dance that they moved through gracefully on the battlefield. Sharp edges: swords, knives, battle axes in both metal and energon that cut swathes of opponents down. Bullets raining down in a hail that caught survivors one at a time as they tried to do something. Run, fight, anything.

They were a pathway of pink, where the screams and calls of the dying were the music, their movements efficient and beautiful in their own way.

And afterward, when highs pushed them to steam rooms with the energy pulled from the fight, they moved into a different battle. A different dance.

One that had very different screams.


	47. Prowl - meeting a kitten for the first time

The small organic was brought in by Carly, who for some reason had promptly brought it in to Prowl.

Presumably for him to approve having around the base, which he refused to do as soon as he saw how small it was. He could barely expect the crew to be careful around the humans, let alone around something a tenth of their size.

But Carly had pleaded, letting the kitten up on his desk while she talked. They were clean, so it wouldn’t cause a mess. They were smart, and she promised it would stay out of their way.

Meanwhile the kitten was attempting to climb his servo, and Prowl was looking at her completely nonplussed.

No, Carly. They cannot have a cat in the Ark. 

Which was all he got out before the little thing decided to wet itself on his servo, and why Carly ran out crying and refused to talk to him for years.


	48. Bob & tiny Twins & Jazz - Playtime

Bob didn’t know how master had been turned small, but he was delighted. Master and red one and small one were now tiny, all huddled against him as they napped from whatever had made them little sized.

Well, he was delighted until they woke up. Then he was ecstatic. Playing with them on the floor gently, letting them romp around his legs and pretending to catch them one at a time with his smaller arms. Nuzzling between them and licking their faces one at a time to hear them giggle and letting them climb all over him like a jungle gym.

He was in heaven. Master was a hatchling and playing and there was the happiest sounds coming from that room from the time they became small until they all poofed back to normal size.

With Bob still cuddling them, of course.


	49. Jazz/any - begging

Jazz had always been called one of the prettiest mecha on the Ark, and it wasn’t for nothing, either.

There were two things that Jazz claimed to love more than anything else in the world. Music and interfacing. Put those things together, as he was very fond of doing, and the mech turned into a puddle that undulated against you in the most obscene way possible.

Blaster loved doing that.

He would turn up the bass, switch on something club heavy when he wanted it fast and hard. Jazz bouncing on his spike, doorwings perking and flaring in time with the music with a glazed look on his face.

But if he wanted Jazz to beg, to squirm and arch against him and ruin another berth covering, he’d pull out the old world tech. Feed the music through his body, the vocals tuned to thrum in sync with their sparks. Driving Jazz mad, so that he writhed and begged Blaster to frag him as his digits drove into his own valve and his optics spat static under his visor. Where the boom box could feed the music through his own vocalizer and straight into Jazz’s valve and have him overloading again and again and still he begged for it. For Blaster to “Frag meh please, baby, oooooooooh!“

And it might take a while, but he never could refuse that request in the end.


	50. Bumblebee/human - 'be careful that bit's sensitive'

“What... You’re kidding me.”

“No! Why would I lie about something like that?”

“There’s no way.. alright alright, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you too hard.”

“It’s alright, just, please, don’t do that again? It’s really sensitive, so even just grabbing it like that hurts a little.”

“Sorry, sorry.

...Is this alright?”

“Yeah, that’s much better, thank you.”

“No worries. Never thought your steering wheel would be that sensitive.”


	51. Raoul/Tracks - Eternity

Raoul hated the word ‘forever’.

Because he knew damn well that his ‘forever’ and Tracks’ ‘forever’ were different, and he hated that he wouldn’t be around for that forever even more then he hated the word.

The corvette would smile at him softly, almost indulgently. As if it was something he’d heard before and understood and as much as Raoul loved the mech sometimes he wanted to punch him too. To make him understand that ‘forever’ was a piss poor amount of time and that when the noble was gone for four months it wasn’t just a little bit of time. It was four months that he wouldn’t get back, that he wasn’t able to spend with someone who’d live longer than their universe had existed.

And he envied their sparks. Physical representations of their soul that would somehow meet up after they died, when all humans got was the whole heaven and hell in like, ten million different religions and he didn’t want any of that.

He just wanted Tracks.

He wanted those stupid things that couples did, sometimes. Like laying out and looking at the stars (not that there were many in NYC to look at), or going out for a picnic or… Or just being together when he was feeling down, and hell had he been feeling down. Frustrated with this for longer than he cared to remember, hands raking through hair with a sigh.

Human. He was human. 

He was human, and he’d never get the relationship he wanted, because Tracks would live for eternity, and he’d live for the blink of an eye in comparison.


End file.
